The haunted hound; (3 page)

He was beginning to enjoy the ride when the train began to slow down. Thinking that it was coming to another hill, Jonathan stood up and, shielding his eyes, looked forward. The train was headed dow^nhill. And it kept on going slower and slower.

Maybe they were coming to a town. Jonathan couldn't remember any between here and the Farm. He looked ahead again, and couldn't see anything except woods along the tracks.

The train finally stopped. Jonathan, figuring that something was wrong with it, climbed up on top of the car and

looked along the train toward the engine. Two men got out of the engine and started walking back.

Jonathan looked down the other way. A man was coming up the tracks.

Maybe they had seen him. He scrambled over a little raised wooden walkway and lay down flat on the roof.

Lying there, he wondered what they would do to him if they caught him. He had only thirty-five cents.

Maybe they'd put him in jail. .

The idea scared him. First flunking summer school and now getting put in jail. What would his father do?

He lay as flat as he could, hardly breathing, and listened to the voices of the men down on the ground.

They grew louder, until he figured that the men \\'ere beside the car he was on. Then the voices faded away.

Jonathan breathed again but didn't move. He lay there waiting for the train to start going again.

Then, very close to him, a man growled, "Hey, bo, come on down/'

CHAPTER THREE

Jonathan lay flat on top of the boxcar, his face down against the warm, cindery wood. He didn't move. He couldn't. All his muscles seemed to have turned to jelly.

He was thinking only of his father. He could almost see his father's face. Jonathan would be in jail and his father would come and look at him between the bars of his cell. His eyes would change the way they sometimes did—the faraway look would fade and he would look right at Jonathan and the sadness would be there in his eyes. A stronger sadness than when it was only a failing report card or some small thing Jonathan had done wrong.

In jail he would miss the final exam, too. That would make him flunk for the year.

The man growled again, his voice sounding tired. "Come on, bo. Climb down."

Hopelessly Jonathan pushed himself up with his hands and looked across the walkway toward the ladder. A man in a clean suit of blue coveralls had his head above the level of the roof. He looked at Jonathan and then turned, saying to

someone on the ground, ''It's a kid, Mr. Duncan/' Then he beckoned to Jonathan and went down the ladder.

Slowly, rung by rung, Jonathan climbed down. He didn't look at the men until he was standing on the ground.

There were three of them, all in the clean blue coveralls, all wearing long-visored railroad caps. One of them was older than the others, and Jonathan guessed that he was the engineer. He had a straggly gray mustache and a lot of wrinkles around his eyes. He walked up close to Jonathan, pushed his cap back, and scrubbed at the bristly hair on his head. ''Trying to kill yourself?" he asked.

Jonathan shook his head. His knees felt weak and he wished there was something he could lean against or sit down on.

"What were you doing up there?"

"Just riding," Jonathan said.

"That's against the law. You can go to jail for that," the man said. He still didn't sound mad. He had a quiet, slow voice.

Jonathan nodded.

"Where were you going?"

"To where I used to live. It isn't far."

"Millersville?" the man asked.

"Not that far. It's only about ten or twelve miles," Jonathan explained, hoping that things wouldn't be so serious if he was just riding a little way.

The man shook his head, frowning. "Don't you know you'd have killed yourself getting off, boy?" he asked.

24

''There's a hill there/' Jonathan told him. ''The train would have been going real slow."

''Had everything figured out, didn't you?'' the man asked. He sounded a little angry now.

''No, sir. Until I remembered the hill I was scared/' Jonathan admitted.

"There's only one real hill between here and Millers-ville/' the man told him. "That's at Barrett's."

"That's where I wanted to get off/' Jonathan said.

"Barrett's? Why?"

"That's where we used to live. That's where I was born."

The man stooped a little and looked at him. "What's your name?"

"Jonathan Barrett."

The man put his cap on straight. "You Bill Barrett's son?" he asked. Yes, sir.

"Does your father know you're hopping freights?" .

Jonathan was shocked and scared. ''No. Gosh, no!"

"Why'd you do it then?"

Jonathan told him about just deciding to go out to the Farm, but it was too far to go on a bicycle and no cars would give him a ride.

The man turned to the other two men. "You all know Bill Barrett?"

"Heard of him. The lawyer," one of them said.

"That's right. He and I used to hunt foxes together/' the

man said. ''WeVe listened to many a race/' Then he held out his hand to Jonathan. ''My name's Eb Duncan. Your dad used to be a good friend of mine, boy.''

Jonathan, still scared, shook hands with him. ''Have I got to go to jail, Mr. Duncan?"

The man's eyes smiled. "Not this time, but don't ever hop another train, hear? You'll get killed sure. Any time you want a lift on my train, just let me know. But not on top of it. Try the caboose."

Jonathan felt weak again, but a little proud. "Thank you," he said.

Mr. Duncan introduced the other two men. "This is 'Dollar' Bill Mathews, the brakeman, and this young sprout here is Jim Stroh, the fireman." Then, after Jonathan had shaken hands with them, Mr. Duncan asked, "You a fox hunter like your dad used to be, boy?"

Jonathan shook his head and said firmly, "No, sir."

"Too bad. Well, let's get on with the railroad's business. Dollar Bill, you take young Jonathan with you, and see that he rides inside and not on top of the caboose. I'll slow down at Barrett's so he can get off."

As Mr. Duncan started away, Jonathan said, "Mr. Duncan, are you going to tell my father about this?"

Mr. Duncan stopped and looked at him. "Don't you want him to know about it?"

Jonathan shuffled his feet. "I guess maybe I'd rather he didn't. I don't think he'd like the idea much."

Mr. Duncan pulled at his straggly mustache. "Your dad's

changed. Changed a lot since I used to set a log with him. Okay, Jonathan, we won't tell him."

''Thank you very much, Mr. Duncan."

Jonathan walked along toward the caboose with Dollar Bill. 'This railroad's breaking Mr. Duncan's heart," Dollar Bill announced. ''Ever since he caught the night run he can't hunt them foxes no more. Poor old man just sits up in that engine and cries when we happen to pass a hunt and he can hear the hounds barking. He truly loves that fox hunting."

"My father used to," Jonathan told him. "My father used to hunt all the time, and he had some wonderful hounds. He had one named Mister Blue that was the best in the whole state."

Dollar Bill said, "I don't know one end of a foxhound from the other. But you take a good setter or pointer then you've got you some real dog."

They climbed up into the caboose and Dollar Bill slowly waved a flag out the door. The train jerked a few times and then began to roll again.

Inside the little room Dollar Bill pushed a chair over for Jonathan. "You did a mighty foolish thing," he said seriously. "It's an easy way to get killed—riding the rods."

"What are the rods?" Jonathan asked.

"Well, you weren't really down on the rods. They're big steel drawrods underneath the cars. Hoboes ride 'em, and sometimes they fall asleep and drop down on the track. But

even hanging to the ladder is dangerous. A sudden jerk could throw you loose. And up on top! Oh, brother, that's murder! Train gets to swaying and it'll throw you off just like that!" He snapped his fingers.

Jonathan could feel again the fear he had had. ''Did you see me get on?'' he asked.

''Sure. Saw you get up out of the bushes and grab her. Mr. Duncan wanted to stop then, but it would've been hard getting started again up that grade, so he waited." Dollar Bill laughed. "He really eased this old train to a stop, too. You notice that?"

"I wasn't noticing much of anything," Jonathan admitted.

"Guess not."

The train whistle tooted once, and Jonathan looked out the window. On the right he saw the fence and the north pasture.

Dollar Bill went with him back on the platform. "Pick a smooth place on the shoulder and drop down, loose, clear of the train. And be running as hard as you can. Old train's always going faster than you think she is."

Dollar Bill was right. Before he dropped Jonathan thought that the train was barely moving, but when he hit the ground he had to run for all he was worth, his legs pounding, to keep from falling forward on his face in the gravel.

When he could stop, the train was creeping away from him. He waved to Dollar Bill still on the platform and then

waved again as, far up the train, he saw a gloved hand slowly moving.

Jonathan went down into the gully and then climbed up the bank toward the fence. Above him there was one lonely old pine tree with a posted sign tacked high up on it.

Jonathan stopped for a moment, reading the sign's faded words. ''Posted. No hunting, fishing, or trespassing. Wm. Barrett."

Somehow the old, lonely tree and the faded sign made him think of his father. As he climbed up the bank he wondered what his father really thought about when he wasn't thinking about his work. He wondered if his father really cared much whether he made F's or A's in school. Jonathan even wondered for a moment whether his father would really mind if Mr. Duncan had put him in jail. He guessed he would about that, but he was afraid that his father was a little like the tree and the sign. Old and faded and lonely. As lonely even as he was.

At the top of the bank Jonathan climbed the rusting fence and stood beside the pine tree. Stretching away from him there was a wide pasture planted now in peanuts so that it was covered with green, tangled vines.

Standing there looking at it, it slowly became familiar to him. Although he had never before seen it planted in peanuts, he recognized it and, in his mind saw it as it used to be. It had been smooth green grass then, and over there there had been the jumps. He could almost see again the white wooden wings angling outward from the bars so that

the horses wouldn't cut at the last moment and run around. Often he and his father and mother would ride over here and jump the horses over the round white bars.

Jonathan suddenly remembered Whiskers, the first pony he had ever had. And, remembering, he almost laughed. Whiskers was a dappled gray and riding him was always a battle. If you weren't careful all the time, Whiskers would get the bit between his old yellow back teeth and clamp down on it. Then he would run. There was no way to yank the bit loose, no way to get his head around. All you could do was to get your legs down between his front legs and slowly force them apart until Whiskers either gave up or fell.

Whiskers. He never bucked when you first got on him. He always waited until you weren't paying much attention, then he'd hump and buck with a side twist that generally landed you out in the bushes somewhere. And if he got you oflF—good-by. You had to walk home.

Jonathan skirted the edge of the pasture, going toward the grove of pines in which the house had once stood.

Everything got more and more familiar as he walked slowly along, finding trees he remembered, and slopes and outlines.

He wondered then if Mr. Worth still lived on the other side of the Farm. He had liked Mr. Worth. A tall, lean man who must be more than fifty years old by now, but in those days his muscles had looked like knotted ropes just under his skin. He had deep-set, sleepy eyes and a slow smile. Mr.

Worth, his father had told him, had been eaptured by the Japanese during the war and they had treated him so eruelly that, when he escaped from them, he was just a skeleton. When he got well he had retired from the Navy and become a farmer.

W^ithout knowing it, Jonathan had been walking slower and slower toward the trees. Inside he wanted so badly for the house to be exactly as he remembered it—tall and white and big. But he knew that it couldn't be that way, and, because of that, he was almost afraid to walk to the driveway and, at last, see what was left of the house.

Because he was so sure that it had fallen down, or rotted away, he tried hard to remember everything he could about it. He thought of the rooms and wide porches, the white columns and the birds around it. Most of all, though, he remembered his mother in it. Reading to him as the light grew dim; the Christmas tree beside the fireplace with the colored lights shining on her; the way she always smelled like the outdoors.

Maybe, Jonathan thought now, if they had moved away from the Farm all at once he would feel differently about it now. If they had suddenly moved out, all in one day, he probably wouldn't care any more about the Farm than he did about any of the apartments they had moved out of. But somehow he had never really moved completely away. While his mother was paralyzed they lived in the city, but they always expected to go back to the Farm. And after she died Jonathan had waited for a long time for his father to